


Raincheck

by stagnationpress



Series: Disclosure [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Between Episodes, F/F, Non-Graphic Violence, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagnationpress/pseuds/stagnationpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie Martinelli was always very observant. She masked her scrupulousness with her default, bubbly disposition, and no one from then on ever suspected she knew a thing. Her innocence put them off; it lead them into a false sense of security, and Angie always had the upper hand. That is, until she met Peggy Carter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raincheck

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not be later accompanied by another one-shot in Peggy's point of view.

Angie Martinelli was always very observant. Her mother would turn blue in the face, shushing young Angie up about things she had overheard while finishing her dinner or playing in the living room with her siblings. She was never one to eavesdrop, but her acute sense of observation got her into more trouble than she could account for in her childhood. She never knew the difference between what was safe to say or what she should never tell a soul. The skill developed itself merely out of her curiosity. It wasn’t only conversation she noticed, either. It was the detail. The excruciatingly minuscule detail that almost everyone could easily overlook. A twitch of an eye or the hint of practiced spite in a tone of voice. Angie saw, heard, _knew_ it all. Since, however, Angie had learned to control those impulses and to keep her mouth shut about the things she noticed. She found that this was even more useful to her. She masked her scrupulousness with her default, bubbly disposition, and no one from then on ever suspected she knew a thing. Her innocence put them off; it lead them into a false sense of security, and Angie always had the upper hand.

That is, until she met Peggy Carter.

She could never quite put her finger on how, but Peggy seemed to slip through every chance Angie could get at trying to break past that hard exterior. Just about the only thing Angie could tell for certain about her was that Peggy Carter was positively _enchanting_. It had taken her a long while and a few flips through a _Merriam Webster's_ dictionary to finally grasp the right word, but she found it. From her walk, to her dialect, to the way she flipped through her newspaper on a Sunday morning, back pin-straight in her usual booth at the automat, Peggy Carter was enchanting. Her dark, approaching sable eyes always held a gleam so particular to Peggy’s character that Angie’s breath caught in her throat every time she happened to catch them. It became increasingly difficult to maintain her disposition she had spent so long perfecting; it became harder to hide how she was trying to dig deeper into the woman’s mystery. But Peggy was a steel vault. An immovable, concrete, cool wall of gentle resistance that pushed back against Angie so softly, she couldn’t help but bow out when it did.

Currently, Peggy was in her usual place, bent over a few pieces of paper and nursing her steaming tea. Angie was writing down a customer’s order. Her practiced fingers scribbled away at her notepad, but she couldn’t help but tune out halfway through. With a glance to her right, she caught a glimpse of red lipstick and neatly curled chestnut hair and immediately halted her pen. Peggy’s little finger was ever-so-slightly bent away from the rest that curled around the handle of her cup, her lips moving a mile a minute and her brow knitted in concentration. Angie paused briefly to crack a grin at the woman before an irritated voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Miss?” the man rose his eyebrow at the waitress, and Angie immediately flipped her head back to face him, face flushing and curls bouncing back into place.

 “Oh, shoot,” Angie gave him her best professional, apologetic smile, “I’m so sorry, mister. Running on fumes, here. Nights aren’t so swell when the girl down the hall from you catches a nasty cold and keeps you up all hours with her boomin’ cough. So that was eggs, two slices of bacon, and a side of toast with coffee?”

Angie could tell the man was caught off guard with her complete and accurate retaliation of his order and fought back a smug smile. The excuse wasn’t a complete lie. Carol Elliott over in 3A _did_ have a booming cough and a habit of forgetting to take her medicine, but by the time Angie returned from work and shrugged off her uniform she was too tired to let it keep her from falling into a deep sleep. 

As she came back to set the man’s plate, cup, and saucer before him, Angie caught Peggy standing to leave out of the corner of her eye. It was seven forty-five in the morning, and from the best Angie could tell, Peggy’s workday wasn’t due until at least nine. Again, observant. In the back of her mind, though, Angie knew she paid special attention to her. She left the man to start his meal and walked towards the woman’s table with an excited skip.

“Leavin’ so soon, English? You haven’t even finished your tea,” Peggy’s head turned at her voice as she took a final sip of said tea and gathered her scattered papers. She gave Angie a wistful, apologetic smile and turned to shove the papers into a folder before tucking it under her arm and shrugging her purse onto her shoulder.

“I’m afraid duty calls at the office, darling. Some sort of mishap with the control panel,” Peggy related in that smooth, proper British tone of hers. The one that sent a strange shiver down Angie's spine every time she spoke. Peggy had that mysterious gleam in her eye again, and Angie would be damned if she didn’t find out what it meant when she did. What could be so mystifying about the phone company?

“You work too hard,” Angie pouted, setting down her notepad and leaning against the table. Peggy let out a breathy chuckle.

“Don’t we all?” she nodded her head towards the man who had apparently been impatiently calling Angie over, unbeknownst to her. Angie sighed, pushing herself off the table and snatching up her notepad again.

“You can say that again,” she huffed, ignoring the man. “I got an audition today, too, right after I clock out. Over on 11th.”

 “Best of luck, then,” Peggy grinned, reaching out to squeeze Angie’s arm. “I’ll love to hear about it later. I really must go, though, Angie. Raincheck?”

 “Countin’ on it, English.”

 With that, Angie watched as she shuffled gracefully out of the revolving door.

The rude man was still irritatingly calling, “ _miss?_ ” rather loudly, and Angie groaned softly before plastering on a fake smile and heading back to work.

* * *

 Feet aching, Angie climbed the small flight of stairs leading to the front entrance of The Griffith. She felt overwhelmingly defeated. This last audition had been her fourth this month, and she had gotten beat out in the last round by a tall blonde with killer legs. She thought back to the “ _we all gotta pay our dues,”_ speech she had given to Peggy a couple of weeks before. How long until her dues were paid? Would they ever be?

She trudged up the stairs to her floor with the gait of a broken spirit, wanting only to get the pinchy shoes off of her feet and to sink into her bed. She managed to catch the familiar sound of Carol Elliot in the middle of a coughing fit and rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might roll right onto the floor.

Approaching her door, she moved to take her keys from her purse when she noticed the golden light flooding the wooden floor of the hallway. She turned, looking down to check her wristwatch. Peggy was home early. It was only just past nine o’clock.

Angie’s brain screamed at her to get out her keys, go into her room, and mind her own business. Keep her mouth shut; stay on the other side of things. But Peggy Carter was just so _different_. Every inch of Angie lit itself on fire with longing to know what made Peggy Carter tick. She never gave anything away, and Angie knew if she didn’t approach her directly, she never would. Plus, Peggy _did_ promise her a raincheck on her audition, and what better time to cash it in than now, when she needed some talking out of the funk she was in. Steeling herself, Angie smoothed out her uniform and clutched her purse tighter to her shoulder. If curiosity really did kill that cat, she thought, I’m about to get murdered in cold blood.

She was almost right.

In her excitement, she failed to knock. She would think about that over and over some time later, playing everything back in her head. Why didn’t she knock? Her Italian blood found itself at ease with virtually everyone she met, she debated; it lured her into a false sense of confidence. She would try and blame it on her fatigue, her disappointment, anything. But she knew it was a mistake on her part. If it was good one or a bad one, she would never be able to decide on. It was good and bad for many different reasons, but it would never be one or the other.

No sooner had Angie taken a step inside than a hand slapped itself over her mouth, and she was dragged into a piercing dark room. She heard the sound of a door being controllably and quietly clicked shut, and the smell of Peggy’s shampoo and soap and rusting pipes hit her nose. She was in the bathroom.

Everything happened so quickly that she had little time to process how frightened she was. She let out a scream only to find it muffled by the hand still expertly tight around her mouth, just under her nose so she was able to breathe. Angie, being as painfully aware as she was, noted that whoever had grabbed her was well-trained. A strong arm had wrapped itself around her midriff, reaching across both of her arms at the joints so that she could not bend them. Angie was too afraid to struggle, anyway. She knew it would only make matters worse.

Her heart leaped into her throat when the figure pressed against her back whispered urgently in her ear, “ _Quiet_ _Angie_.”

Angie’s eyes widened quickly. She stiffened. She would know that smooth tone anywhere. The hand over her mouth loosened for a moment, and she took the opportunity to twist out of the grip and yank the hand away. The figure didn’t try and pull her back. She turned quickly, but was met by pitch black darkness. Even so, she had a pretty decent idea of who was in the room with her.

“Peggy?” she called out to the dark.

Another desperate and unmistakably British whisper of “ _Shush!”_ and Angie’s suspicions were confirmed. She shut her mouth like a vice. That voice could tell her to go to hell and she would walk into fire. Okay, maybe not to that extreme, but Angie was too incapacitated in the moment for accurate scenarios.

She heard Peggy shuffle across the small bathroom to the door and wait. It felt like hours they waited. Angie still didn’t speak, and she wasn’t sure she had the voice to. Adrenaline still flooded through her system like an electric pulse.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open and Peggy’s figure was bathed in light, her hand clutching the knob. Angie let out a small gasp. She was more or less covered in grime, slices in her once pristine pencil skirt ranged from small cuts to _ouch that had to hurt_ , and she was barefoot of all things. Her blazer had been shed and she now only donned her soft white shirt, which could hardly be called the color it was so dirty. Her curls had long since fallen and her hair now had a soft wave to it, spilling over her shoulders.

She turned towards Angie, keeping the door at a crack and pinning her with a tired look. Her face seemed to be free of any sort of injury, but that didn’t stop panic from rising in Angie’s chest.

“Have you ever heard of this grand thing called _knocking_?”

“Peggy what-” Peggy help up a hand to silence her.

“Go back to your apartment, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” she spoke authoritatively, and paused. “Granted we aren’t both murdered in our beds.”

If Peggy meant that as any type of consolation or selling point, she had failed, Angie thought. She wondered if her face gave her away, because Peggy’s expression softened considerably.

“Please, Angie. I’m exhausted, I’m certain I’ll not stand up another minute,” she sighed, pulling the door wider as if to encourage Angie through. “We’re safe, I promise. The murder spiel was my bit of humor in light of this horrid night I’ve had.”

Angie stuttered for a moment, flustered.

“Peg, you can’t just expect me to…”

“Tomorrow,” Peggy begged. “Please.”

At a loss for words for once, Angie simply nodded and pushed past Peggy. She reached the apartment door, spotting Peggy’s black heels in the corner, thick with mud. She turned back for a moment. Peggy was there in the hallway, smiling at her tiredly and reassuringly.

“Don’t think for a minute I’ll forget, English,” Angie meant for it to sound _some_ sort of stern, but it came out sort of playful instead. Peggy yawned.

“Counting on it, darling,” she grinned, her eyes watering with fatigue. She had echoed Angie’s words from earlier.

With an assertive nod, Angie turned and headed to bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, despite the traces of adrenaline still ghosting through her veins, she was out like a light.

* * *

Angie had always rather enjoyed communal dining at The Griffith. Especially on Saturdays when she did not have work. She would always be the one rapping on girls’ doors bright and early in the morning, calling them down for breakfast. She was an early riser. Mostly because her stomach woke up before she did. Meals were a chance to catch up with all of the girls, and Angie wasn’t one to pass up a good conversation over toast and coffee.

Today, however, she slammed her alarm off as soon as the first notes of “Five Minutes More” by that Sinatra guy started blaring. She sat up and her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t feel like eating. Her first thought was to march right over to Peggy’s apartment and demand to know what the meaning of last night was.

Then she thought back to the exhausted look on Peggy’s face and her sliced up skirt and her filthy shirt, and Angie slouched. It was probably best to let her sleep for a while longer.

When a concerned and wheezing Carol Elliott came knocking at her door to ask if she was coming down for breakfast, Angie fed her some lie about a stocking mishap and dismissed her. She tried to busy herself with tidying up around her apartment. Cleaning up the tiny kitchen, dusting a bit here and there. There was still the nagging impatience in the back of Angie’s thoughts, however, and she couldn’t do with just waiting around for answers any longer. She checked her wristwatch; it was half past eight. Ample time for sleep, she decided.

* * *

 She knocked this time. Angie was sure she would never forget again.

 A soft, sure voice called, “come in,” and Angie held her breath before opening the door.

She found Peggy in the kitchen, pouring a warm cup of tea. She was fully dressed in a lengthy navy pencil skirt, a soft blue blouse and a matching navy blazer. On her feet were sensible black heels, shining with new polish as if they had just been cleaned. Her hair fell in loose curls. If she was in pain beneath those clothes, she didn’t show it.

Angie sheepishly cleared her throat. Before she turned, Peggy set down the kettle and stirred sugar into her tea. She pulled out a chair at the small table and sat. Angie did the same. Peggy sipped her tea gingerly, and looked up with a smile.

Not one to beat around the bush, Angie looked her straight in the eyes and said, “What happened last night?”

Peggy took another sip of her tea. Her smile was off-putting.

“How was your audition?”

Angie was caught off guard for a moment, and then she regained herself. Her brow pulling together in frustration, she sat up in her chair slightly.

“What?”

“Your audition?”

“Peggy.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you avoiding my question?”

Peggy didn’t answer; she sipped at her tea again.

Angie stood quickly, her chair skidding back across the wood.

“I’m not doing this, Peg. I’m not fresh outta the cradle. I know you say the phone guys are pigheaded jerks but I know they didn’t hack you up like a fresh piece of cow. Now _tell me_ what’s goin’ on,” Angie was fuming suddenly. How could Peggy sit there, so calm and collected, when she was so _unwound_ just last night? Angie was completely flabbergasted. Was this how it always had been? Had Peggy waltzed into the automat, pristine like a new penny but hiding bumps and bruises from _god knows where_ underneath? Angie had been fooled right from the get-go. Angie, with all of her observance and all of her study, knew absolutely _nothing_ about Peggy Carter. And she was infuriated because she wanted to. She wanted to get under Peggy’s skin, to explore her darkest secrets, to dig deep into her mind and come out breathless. Angie couldn’t understand why she wanted so much to crack Peggy, but then again she did. And by _god_ if the pouty way Peggy was looking at her didn’t confirm Angie’s _torturous_ attraction to her, then she was a rotting liar.

With a sigh, Peggy looked into her tea, “Angie… what you have to understand about me is-”

“That’s just it, Peg,” Angie took a step towards her, “You won’t let me understand. You keep yourself so collected and you don’t realize that you push people away. Well I ain’t gonna be pushed any more, English. I’m just gonna push right back. So if you wanna go on being all _steely_ then maybe you should find somewhere new to get your mornin’ tea.”

In her anger, Angie didn’t notice that Peggy had stood from the table. She had that gleam in her eyes again, and it made Angie even more furious.

“Well…” Peggy let out a slow, concentrated breath.

“Maybe I don’t go for the tea,” her voice was low, sultry, and just above a whisper. Angie felt the familiar shiver rake down her spine.

“But…” Angie racked her brain for the things usually at Peggy’s table in the morning. “You don’t eat anything else-”

Her initial thought, and she’d kick herself for it later, was “ _when did she get so close_?”But it was directly followed by “ _golly_ , _her lips are as soft as they look_.”

Her hands flew up to Peggy’s shoulders to steady herself, because she felt her knees faltering the second Peggy’s lips met hers. Peggy’s hands slid across her heated cheeks, pulling Angie flush against her. She was able to get in a shuddering breath as Peggy pulled away before the woman kissed her again, gentler this time. Angie’s stomach turned this way and that, inhaling Peggy’s perfume and feeling her lipstick stain her own lips. Everything about the way Peggy kissed her quenched a thirst Angie had just realized she had. She pulled away excruciatingly slow, taking Angie’s lip between hers before releasing it completely.

Peggy rested her forehead on hers for a moment before pulling away. She kept her hands on Angie’s hips.

“Geez, Peg,” Angie was breathless, “Not that I’m complaining, but what was all that for?”

Peggy laughed then, a genuine, hearty, full laugh that was like the feeling of a warm blanket on a cold night to Angie’s ears.

“Angie, darling,” Peggy tucked a curl behind Angie’s ear, “You are the one constant in my life. I go to the automat because it’s familiar and _you_ are familiar and you make my life seem not so… mucked up.”

Angie went to speak but a look from Peggy silenced her, “Whoever I am outside of this room is not something I need to put onto your shoulders, and it has nothing to do with me disliking your company in any way. Forgive me.”

Angie sighed, “It’s real sweet of you, Peg, but I don’t need protectin’. By the looks of last night, you’re the one who needs to be taken care of.”

As if confirming, Peggy gave a wince as Angie squeezed her shoulder. She gave her an apologetic look.

“You need to stitch up those cuts, Peg,” Angie stole a glance down to Peggy’s ironed skirt. No doubt she had chosen a longer one today in order to hide the wounds she had acquired underneath. From Angie’s memory, most of her injuries were sustained above the knee.

“I’m quite okay, Angie, really,” Peggy’s argument was weak, her voice wavering ever so slightly. Any other person would not have noticed the slight, but this was Angie.

She pulled away from Peggy completely, pointing to the bed with a strict finger, “Margaret Carter, you sit down right now. I’m fixing you up.”

Peggy hesitated for a moment but then seemed to weigh the options. With a last roll of her eyes, she sighed dejectedly and slumped over to her bed. She sat with an unceremonious _plop_ as Angie headed to the bathroom to dig for the first-aid kit Mrs. Fry had equipped every apartment with. When she returned, Peggy had toed off her high heels and was fiddling with loose strings on the worn duvet.

Angie set the kit down on the table, lifting her chin as a gesture to Peggy’s stockings. “You’ll need to get those off, English.”

Peggy’s sudden blush could be seen from space, Angie noted. It was the first time she had seen it, and a small, smug smile played on her face. She turned to give Peggy a bit of privacy. We may have just kissed like nobody’s business, Angie thought, but no way am I stepping into territory I ain’t invited to.

Angie busied herself with pulling out a few necessities. Cotton swabs, a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a round case of mecca home remedy ointment, a needle and suture thread, a pair of clipping scissors, and a bundle of bandages.

When she faced Peggy again, her bare legs were crossed and her stockings neatly folded on the duvet. Angie clutched a little tighter to the items in her hands. She knelt at Peggy’s feet when she reached the bed, setting down the items save the cotton swabs and peroxide. She tilted the bottle to saturate the cotton with it, and set it down again.

“Alright, tough gal, let’s see,” Angie didn’t touch her yet. Peggy looked up from the duvet and uncrossed her legs. The more she pulled up her skirt, the more concerned Angie grew. Last night, most of her injuries had been covered by the skirt, but now she could see the full extent. Spotted bruises lined her outer thigh as if she had been struck there repeatedly. Some were smaller; some were large and colored with every range of blue and purple. Her knees were considerably scraped, brush-burns slashed across the tops. Where Angie had seen the deeper slashes in Peggy’s skirt there lay confirming, long cuts that- _thank goodness_ \- didn’t seem to go too deep.

“Peggy,” Angie breathed, looking up at her. “Who did this? I’ll give them a well-deserved knuckle sandwich.”

By this time, Angie had considered all the options she could muster up. Abusive boyfriend. Peggy had said she didn't have a fella. Accident. Peggy didn't seem the type to be as clumsy as the injuries would have required. 

“Darling, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Peggy’s eyes gleamed once more with that all-too-familiar mystery. This time, Angie didn’t pry. She would have time for that later. Now, Peggy needed her care and attention.

Angie ran the cotton swab across the cuts, and although she knew the peroxide stung considerably, Peggy did not flinch. When she had finished cleaning the cuts and brush-burns, she rubbed the ointment over them to ease the pain and carefully placed bandages on each. The bruises, Angie knew, would have to heal on their own. There was one particularly wide slice just above Peggy’s knee, and for this Angie grabbed the suture thread and needle. She began stitching, and Peggy still didn’t show any sign of discomfort. In fact, she seemed rather at ease.

“You’re quite good at that,” Peggy’s voice was very soft, encouraging even. Angie didn’t meet her gaze, but merely smiled and continued stitching. Once the cut was neatly sewn up, she snipped the end of the thread and set the scissors down.

“I grew up with some rough kids. Came in handy, knowin’ how to fix up a few scrapes here and there,” Angie explained, gathering up the items and heading back to the table to place them back in the kit.

Behind her, she heard Peggy slipping her stockings and heels back on; she waited until she was sure she’d finished before turning around.

Angie leaned herself back against the table, hands behind her back to steady herself. Peggy’s legs were crossed again.

"Thank you, Angie."

“So… I suppose I ain’t gettin’ an explanation any time soon,” Angie moved to sit in one of the chairs again. Peggy sighed heavily, as if she had been holding her breath.

“Angie… If you’re involved, there will be no way to forgive myself if something were to happen to you,” Peggy tightened her hands around the duvet. “I can’t afford…”

She stood suddenly to walk over to the table and resume her seat in front of her cooled tea.

After a pause, she said, “I care for you too much. More than I should.”

Angie turned her chair at an angle that faced Peggy more directly. “Well if that kiss was any consolation, we’re in the same boat, English.”

They shared a chuckle.

“If I can’t know your _big secret_ , can we at least get to know each other a little better?” Angie didn’t want to push, but she had caught onto a sliver of Peggy’s mystery and pulled. She couldn’t let go now, not when she’d finally begun to unravel the woman. Not when she saw how beautiful she was underneath. Not with what she had felt in that kiss.

“Why don’t we start with that raincheck? Since you were so _eager_ before,” Angie offered.

Peggy grinned out of the corner of her mouth and leaned over the table. She stared into Angie. Full, unabashed eye contact.

“I’d love to,” she placed her hand atop Angie’s briefly, “How was your audition, Miss Martinelli?”

“Could’ve gone better. Miss what’s-her-face, you know, the blonde with the legs, beat me out again. The casting director said I had,” Angie lifted her fingers to mark quotes in the air, “ _potential_. What a wise-guy. Total meatball.”

“I’m sure your audition was more than satisfactory,” Peggy soothed with a soft laugh. “What was the part for again?”

Angie shrugged, “Just this deal about some Joe who was crackin’ down as a double agent…”

Peggy paled suddenly. Angie, of course, took notice.

“What is it?”

Peggy’s eyes immediately shot down to stare into her tea again. After a moment, Angie slapped her hand down on the table so hard it echoed.

“Oh my _god_.”

             


End file.
